


reminiscences

by nightfurious



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuuin no Tsurugi | Fire Emblem: Binding Blade, Fire Emblem: Rekka no Ken | Fire Emblem: Blazing Sword
Genre: Angst I guess, EliHec Week 2020, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, binding blade au where hector didn't [redacted], illness recovery, no beta (but i might in the morning), the elihec is more implied than anything tho...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:41:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23574037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightfurious/pseuds/nightfurious
Summary: Roy returns suddenly to Pherae with an unexpected, severely injured guest.
Relationships: Eliwood & Hector (Fire Emblem), Eliwood & Roy (Fire Emblem), Eliwood/Hector (Fire Emblem)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 29





	reminiscences

**Author's Note:**

> elihec week day four!! youth/[elders] (though honestly it's supposed to be a mix of both)
> 
> bonus info: the title came from an echoes soundtrack
> 
> i hope you guys like it!!

“Lord Eliwood! Lord Eliwood!”

The door to his study burst open with such force he worried it would fly straight off the hinges. He pushed himself to his feet immediately, every fiber of his being screaming with alarm. “Rebecca? What is it?”

Her face was white as a sheet, and her breathing was labored, from exertion or panic Eliwood couldn’t tell. “He’s returned—Roy—and he—Lord Hector—come with me! Quickly!”

He didn’t need any further encouragement, though he couldn’t get himself to move as fast as either of them wanted; though his illness was slowly releasing its hold, it was taking its sweet, luxurious time. Rebecca led him by the elbow through the halls, and dread fell into his gut like a punch as he recognized the path. “Rebecca, tell me, please, Roy—is he hurt? What happened at Araphen?”

She hissed a sigh through clenched teeth. “Roy is—well, he isn’t hurt, but… Lord Hector… he is another story.”

The punch hit his lungs this time, and he stumbled, righting himself just before he toppled. Her grip on his elbow tightened.

Rebecca continued, “There was only one healer in their party. A stubborn one, she was, and they managed to get him here, but any second now, he…”

Eliwood swallowed thickly, unable to muster up any semblance of a response. His vision swam, lungs and eyes burning, but Rebecca’s steadying hand combined with sheer adrenaline propelled him forward. At last, they turned a corner and nearly collided head-on with a familiar face, one so like Eliwood’s own.

“Roy!” he cried, at the same time Roy breathed, “Father…!”

At once, Roy’s body seemed to sag, then immediately tense up again, and something desperate and worrying sparked in his eyes as he looked up at Eliwood. “Follow me.”

The door to the infirmary was only a few steps away, surrounded by other worried troops of Roy’s army, and Eliwood and Rebecca followed close behind as Roy pushed it open. Inside was a flurry of activity; healers were crowded over one of the beds, staves glowing warmly, while others bustled about frantically, fetching bandages and water and whatever else was needed. The patient was obscured, but Eliwood didn’t need to see his face to know that Hector of Ostia was at the center, and his heart constricted so forcefully it sent a fierce wave of pain through his chest. His feet were moving before his mind could catch up, but a hand wrapped around his arm and yanked backward just in time to dodge a nurse. Roy pulled him back to stand by his side.

“When we arrived at Castle Araphen,” he murmured, “Bern’s troops had already taken over. Two of the Wyvern Lords and King Zephiel himself.”

Eliwood sucked in a breath.

“By the time we reached the throne, they were gone, but they left Lord Hector behind like this. I—” He paused, swallowing hard. His gaze shifted to the floor. “We moved as quickly as we could. Still, I— I should have— I’m so sorry, Father.”

“Roy, don’t. Hector would not have made it this far if not for you. You saved his life. There is nothing to be sorry for.”

“We should have been there sooner,” Roy said anyway, and Eliwood saw his shoulders begin to shake. “If we had helped him fight, then—”

“Then you would have been up against two Wyvern Lords and King Zephiel,” Eliwood reminded him gently. “The fact that you are both here now, alive, is more than enough for me. Thank you, Roy. You did admirably.”

Both of them lurched forward at once, and Roy buried his face into his father’s shirt. It was better that way, Eliwood supposed. Though he knew everyone in the army would understand, Roy wouldn’t want them to see him cry. 

//

Hector survived.

Eliwood refused to leave the infirmary after he arrived, and one of the clerics approached him with the news as he was speaking to Marcus. The relief from both of them was so profound they had to support each other just to stay standing. 

Roy’s army left the moment they knew; Eliwood was told they had been given instructions by Hector, and there was a great possibility that Lilina was in danger. He felt sick to his stomach thinking about it, but he had the utmost faith in them. They would save her, just as they did her father. Their farewell was bittersweet.

Staying in the infirmary had its benefits, the most significant of which was that his illness was never an issue so long as a cleric was around to keep it at bay. Still, even with the progress the healers made, it was nearly a day before Hector began to stir. Eliwood nearly leapt out of his skin when his eyes flickered open.

“Hector?” He stood carefully, moving close. A nearby attendant gasped and dashed away, likely to fetch a nurse. “Can you hear me? Hector?”

His only response was a pained grunt. Hector blinked slowly; only one eye was visible past the bandages on his head, but it finally began to focus on Eliwood, and he squinted. Eliwood jumped forward before he could attempt speech, gently taking hold of Hector’s hand. “I’m here, Hector. You’re in Pherae. Everything is alright.”

Hector exhaled, mouth forming around a single syllable, but no sound came out. He grimaced, then tried again, and this time, Eliwood heard the ghost of a name.

“Roy is okay,” he answered softly. “He brought you here before setting off for Ostia.”

Hector released a heavy breath, and his eye slipped shut again. Eliwood would have panicked had a cleric not burst into the room then, and he quickly stepped away to let him work.

Another day passed before Hector woke again. Eliwood was asleep this time, slumped over the bed in a position he was guaranteed to regret later, but he was startled back to reality by a hand brushing through his hair. He blinked blearily several times before his eyes finally made contact with Hector’s. 

“Good morning,” came a gruff voice, so very dry, so obviously pained, but so incredibly familiar that Eliwood nearly fell to tears. He couldn’t let Hector see that, though, so he merely wiped his eyes and forced his best smile.

“Hector… How do you feel?”

A long pause. Then, “Alive.”

Eliwood laughed dryly, and he felt tears prickling at his eyes even as he fought them back. “Yes, despite your best efforts. Two Wyvern Lords and King Zephiel, huh?”

Hector flinched hard. Eliwood felt a pang of regret in his chest and sighed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know… that you did not choose that fight. And I know that you never gave up. I know you, Hector, and I understand. It’s just…”

 _I don’t want to lose you. I will not—no, I_ cannot _lose you, Hector._

Something in his heart constricted again. He wouldn’t be able to fight back the tears much longer.

Instead, he stood up, ignoring the dizziness that came with it. “I will find a cleric. They will want to know you are awake.” He didn’t turn to see if Hector watched him go.

Hector’s condition improved drastically over the next few days, something that surprised everyone due to the severity of his injuries. Everyone but Eliwood, that is; the Hector he knew could shrug off fatal attacks with a flick of his wrist, and heal a grievous wound by blowing on it. He became capable of full conversation again quickly, and Eliwood was, as ever, there by his side.

“Really, I’m okay,” Eliwood insisted to the cleric hovering over him, who merely shot him a look before continuing to inspect him. “I have done nothing but rest for the past few days. The illness has not bothered me.”

“Still, you are not out of the woods,” the cleric said firmly. “It is only a good thing you are here, because it is much easier to keep an eye on you when you aren’t working. But,” she added, standing, “there seems to be no issue for now. Lord Hector, how do you feel?”

“Better than before,” he responded, which was the same as he’d said each time prior.

The cleric nodded. “In that case, I will return later, or you know where to find me if you need anything.” With that, she flashed them a professional smile and started away.

“Thank you!” Eliwood called after her retreating back.

Hector laughed. “Complaints one moment, pleasantries the next.”

“Well, it never hurts to be nice. Especially not when our health is in their hands.”

He hummed in response, immediately followed by a scoff. “What a pair we make, eh? Can’t go one hour without someone needing to make sure we’re alright.”

“This blasted illness…” Eliwood huffed, glaring down at his hands. “I could be doing so much more now. I _should_ be. But I can hardly move quicker than a walk, much less pick up a rapier.”

“We should be out there.” Hector’s voice had gone dangerously soft, and Eliwood glanced up to find his gaze unfocused, eyes stormy. “This should not be Roy’s war. After what happened all those years ago, with Zephiel… It should be us.”

An image sprang to Eliwood’s mind of a young boy, as sharp as he was kind, with a gentle face wreathed in confusion and anger. He had looked upon them with gratitude that day, but Eliwood knew his expression had surely been the furthest thing from it at Araphen. 

“We aren’t the same people we were back then, either,” he murmured. 

“Hey, just because you’ve gone soft in your old age doesn’t mean we all have.”

Eliwood chose to ignore that. “When my father went missing, I dropped everything to search for him. My mother was just as worried as I was, but I left her behind, and I stayed away for months fighting in a war that never saw the light of day.”

Hector’s expression darkened, and Eliwood did not have to ask to know he was thinking of his brother. 

“And yet,” he continued, “you should have seen Roy. Younger than we were, and already commanding an army—one that respects him for his skills, not his position. The war’s only just begun, and he has already become the symbol of Lycia. And still—” His throat constricted, and he shut his eyes tightly, trying valiantly to hold back his tears “—he made time for us. To bring you here, rather than a closer territory; to check on the state of my illness, and of Pherae; and all while leading a war.”

Pride, shame, and fear burst from his heart in equal measure, and he relented, allowing himself to cry in earnest. Hector said nothing, but after a moment he leaned forward and gripped one of Eliwood’s hands. Eliwood looked from his hand to his face in surprise. Hector’s eyes, both now unobstructed, conveyed more than he needed to put into words, but he tried anyway, and the words sent a shiver down Eliwood’s spine.

“He is not alone.”

Which was true, of course. Faces flashed in his mind, of a determined woman with a sword strapped to her side; of a beautiful, gracious cleric, and the moody mercenary ever-present at his side; of a cheerful but troubled girl with a deadly shadow; of three sisters whose names never quite rolled off his tongue. Of a young man whose skill with the flute could only be rivaled by his will, and a young woman whose every word, every move left an mesmerized audience in her wake. They were not alone either, back then. 

And he was not alone now. He shifted his hand in Hector’s and held on as though his life depended on it, and in some way, maybe it did. Something different sprouted from his heart then, slowly but forcefully steadying the roar of his pulse in his ears until he could breathe again, and as his lungs filled with air, all he could bring himself to say was, “I know.”

“But,” Hector said, loudly, “should something happen to my daughter while I am here, he may end up with more than Bern before him.”

A smile tugged at Eliwood’s lips. “He would never dare anger you, Marquess Hector of Ostia.”

“Aha! There it is!”

Eliwood looked up in surprise. Hector merely grinned triumphantly at him. “There’s… what?”

When he spoke, Hector’s voice was so soft it was nearly inaudible. “You smiled.”

“Oh.” Eliwood blinked, and smiled again. “I suppose I did. Thanks to you.”

“You worry too much, Eliwood. Now, didn’t you say you received word from them earlier?”

The days of battling creatures of darkness and fire had passed long ago; Eliwood had long since come to terms with that, but he had never wanted that torch to leave his hands. He had never wanted his son thrust into the same position, forced to make the same decisions, face the same realities. But, he supposed, perhaps it was in good hands. If the healing, living, breathing man before him was any indication, or the overwhelming pride and love swelling in his heart, Roy would be more of a hero than Eliwood ever was. 

**Author's Note:**

> me, the whole time writing this fic: searching for somewhere to add in wolt's name for literally any reason  
> me, at the end: :(
> 
> also the eli&roy tag needs more love


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